Between Real and Not Real
by Dandelion Lass
Summary: An accident throws Peeta Mellark together with the unexpected love of his life. A take on the 1995 film, "While You Were Sleeping" starring Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman. Written for Everlarkian Archive's Movies in the Month of May Challenge on Tumblr. Come follow me, I'm dandelionlass on Tumblr too! :)


Many many thanks to all the lovely ladies that helped this story come together! Damndonnergirls for the gorgeous banner (look for your shout out), my lightening fast beta, myusernamehere for wrangling numerous commas, and last but not least, chele20035 for always being eager to preread!

Between Real and Not Real

Part 1

My dad always told me, "Life doesn't follow a recipe…"

When I first heard Prim, I was instantly drawn to her. My eyes flitted up to the sound of her laugh as she fluttered through the door with her ebony headed friend. It was uninhibited, vibrant, and almost melodic in its tone as it floated to me behind the counter like a crisp oak leaf on an autumn gust. It resonated joy and life and was both familiar and infectious. After hearing that rich timbre, I had no doubt I would marry her someday.

Prim and her friend were wearing matching pink scrubs. The fringe of her bangs perfectly framed her ocean blue eyes while the rest of her shining golden hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that brushed her shoulders. A comically large pink bow perched on top of her head like a crown.

The bow suited her. And the sight of it made me chuckle and brought a smile to my face. It reminded me of the clowns I once saw as a young child at the circus with my brothers. Her excitement was tangible, and her accompanying smile was luminous as a candle. She filled me with a warmth that brisk September Tuesday that surrounded me like one of my father's great bear hugs, thawing me to the bone. I savored that warmth, a sensation I hadn't felt since my family was still alive.

The badge clipped to her pocket displayed her name, Primrose, and that she and her companion worked at the county hospital downtown.

"Good Morning, welcome to Peet's Coffee and Buns!" I greeted them in my typical manor. "What can I get for you lovely ladies?"

"I'm not quite sure," the dark haired woman, Posy, admitted. "We've never been here."

"We just moved back to start our pediatric fellowship at Parkland today and thought we'd save on parking and traffic by taking the DART Rail," Prim elaborated. A light rail station sits not 100 feet from the apartment complex where my shop rests and is a straight shot into downtown Dallas.

"Well then, might I recommend one of our tropical smoothies? They're really popular. Or we have a plethora of pastries that we bake fresh each morning," I suggested, gesturing to the nearly full display case to my left.

"I'll try the tropical smoothie then please. That sounds refreshing." Our green smoothies are deceptively delicious. The tropical one is filled with spinach, mango, pineapple, strawberries, banana, and Bulgarian yogurt, to make it especially creamy.

"Ooo!" Delly Cartwright, my coworker and friend, chimed in, shaking her shoulders back and forth. "The tropical smoothie is one of my favorites."

"Great choice!" I agreed. "And I like your bow by the way."

"Thanks, but you don't have to say that. I know it's ridiculous. All I need is the red nose. I just really want the kids to like me and not be scared when we do rounds." I was taken back by the thoughtfulness of her confession. I couldn't comprehend anyone being frightened by her petite form.

"No, truly. It suits you," I assured her.

Grabbing a clear to-go cup and purple sharpie from the Mellark's Bakery coffee mug next to my register, I asked, "What name should I write?"

"Oh, Primrose. Prim, actually." I jotted her name on the cup's side, punctuating the ends with flowers.

"No, no. Put that away," I told her as she began digging in her wristlet for payment. "Breakfast is on me this morning. Congratulations on your first day!"

The two women chorused their gratitude. Then Posy ordered our signature giant cinnamon rolls, stuffed with pecans and cranberries and smothered in a gooey bourbon glaze, as well as a small cappuccino. Meanwhile, Primrose eyed her incredulously as she moved down the counter to watch Delly purée her own meal.

"What? I'm celebrating the first day of my dream job!" Posy explained with a giggle and shrug. "Here. At least let try a pinch," she offered once I handed her the boxed confection.

The groan Prim emitted as she devoured her bite went straight to my groin, and I shifted behind the register to ensure my growing erection was hidden from their view.

"Good gracious, that's divine!" she exclaimed after swallowing. "What's in there? Crack?"

"I can't say. It's an old family recipe, and I'm sworn to secrecy," I bantered back with a wink. She blushed, and I felt my heart swell.

"Will you let me have it back if I promise to give you half?" Posy questioned jokingly.

"Sorry, Posy," Prim replied sheepishly and handed the box back.

Posy strained to look at her watch with full hands. "Come on, we better get to the platform. It's five 'til."

"Y'all will have to come back so you can get one of your own," I called as they turned to leave.

"Don't worry, we will!" Prim confirmed with a wave.

"Could you be anymore obvious?" Delly chided after the door shut behind the two women. She was smirking as she laughed. "We'll see if you scared them off, Mellark."

Prim did come back.

She returned to my shop several times in the following weeks. And multiple times per week, to my immense pleasure. Each visit, she wears her same pink scrubs but with a different bow or themed accessory. A bow in my favorite shade of sunset orange with large dangly spider earrings for Halloween. Turkey-like feathers on a hair clip the week of Thanksgiving. They must be a big hit with the kids at the hospital.

She never orders the same drink or pastry twice, and I always leave her a tiny drawing to brighten her commute. It's not much really, a little primrose blossom in different locales. I looked up her namesake after our first meeting. One day the flower was growing in the crack of a sidewalk, another day in a flower pot sitting on a windowsill. The Monday she mentioned she had a cold over the weekend, I drew a balloon with the bloom that said, "Get Well Soon!" I simply draw whatever happens to pop into my head in that moment with her.

We haven't had an in-depth conversation, only our brief exchanges while taking her order, but I know when I finally get the courage to ask her out, it will have been well worth the wait. If I can't work up the nerve soon, I will have to make it my New Year's resolution.

Even with our seasonal pastries and beverages and the fresh pine garlands I placed sporadically throughout the shop after Thanksgiving, Delly insisted we weren't up to her standard of festiveness. The Cartwrights routinely went above and beyond for Christmas, but now even that extreme has been surpassed. It looks like Santa Claus and all his reindeer threw up in here. Being up and productive like this, before the first streaks of light stretch across the horizon, are some of my favorite mornings. They make me think of my childhood growing up in my family's bakery. She won't come out and say it, despite her propensity to chatter at record speeds, but I know she partly does this to keep my spirits high during the holidays. I only allow it because Delly is my best friend and the closest thing to family I have left. Well, that and she volunteered Thom and herself to put it all away come the 6th.

Delly has been going on all morning about the trip out to the country she and Thom have planned for Christmas.

"So tonight we'll be at his Gran-Gran's house in Linden for Christmas Eve supper. I went last year and all the aunts, uncles, and cousins came. I swear there must have been fifty people in that two-bedroom house. I'm pretty sure our apartment is bigger. Most of the uncles were outside sneaking beer and moonshine while the kids ran around though," Delly continued.

"You were invited back. That's got to be a good sign?" I interject with a smile.

"Of course I was invited back, silly. I took out the big guns and brought two of our chocolate pecan pies with the graham cracker crusts. Thom wasn't lying when he said his grandmother is meaner than a bucket of nails. She didn't give me a second glance until she had a piece, and Thom told her I had made it. Then she started interrogating me about my 'intentions for her grandson,'" Delly elaborates, using aIr quotes towards the end of her sentence.

"So I guess you told her it was your recipe?" I inquire, turning to stare at her with one eyebrow lifted and making a valiant effort at keeping a straight face.

"Fine. Yes," Delly reluctantly admits. "I took credit for your glorious creation. Thank you for getting me in the good graces of Thom's cranky old grandmother, Peeta James Mellark."

"Finally! Appreciation accepted."

We are finishing up our decorating and serving our sparse customers when I hear the the jingle bells on the door, and Prim walks in. She's decked out in light-up reindeer antlers, a flashing red nose, and a hand-knit scarf patterned like a candy cane tucked into her hunter green peacoat.

"Morning, Rudolf! So what'll it be today?" I ask when Prim reaches the register.

She laughs, turns off the nose, and places it on the counter before answering.

"Oh, I want to try everything on the menu." I futilely try to stave off the blush creeping up my neck at her compliment. "How about the gingerbread kombucha and an orange-cranberry scone? That sounds Christmassy."

"We put orange juice and zest in the second fermentation of the tea along with the gingerbread spices: ginger, cloves, cinnamon, and cardamom. So that'll be a prime pair," I confirm. "It'll be $4.67."

"I'm sure it's scrumptious," Prim agrees, handing me her debit card.

"Will you get to see any family over the holiday?" I proceed, adding my latest primrose to her cup, retrieving her scone, and throwing in two of our "ginger bends," soft ginger-molasses cookies, for her to enjoy later today.

"That's the plan. Unfortunately with my hectic schedule, I haven't been able to see much of them since my fellowship began."

"You're all set," I say, passing off her cup and bag. Our fingers brush, and in an effort to pause the moment, I freeze, staring into her brilliant blue eyes, a few shades lighter than my own. "Merry Christmas, Prim." I send her off with a final squeeze below her elbows.

When I return to my position at the register a couple minutes later, I see Prim's red nose.

"Cover the register for me, Dell?" I call back as I dart out the door.

"No problem!" she yells back.

It's still dark, but the train platform is illuminated by a lone arrest lamp at its center. Running towards it, I see Prim cornered by two men. They are in her face, but I'm still too far away to hear what's being said. One pulls on her scarf while the other removers her antlers and places them on his own head. My blood boils at the sight, her abandoned red nose forgotten.

"Hey," I shout from the stairs, "leave her alone!"

The men jump at my voice and bolt, bumping Prim in their hasty escape. She steps back to catch her balance but trips on the edge, sending her backwards off the raised platform and down onto the train tracks. I leap down onto the tracks after her.

Rushing, I kneel by her side. "Prim, Prim!" I gently shake her as the volume of my voice and panic grow. Her chest rises and falls with her breaths, but she is otherwise unresponsive.

The howl of the oncoming train's whistle pulls my attention from Prim. It's barreling towards us on the same track where Prim lies. Without hesitation, and possible neck injury be damned, I scoop her up into my arms and carry her over the adjacent set of tracks as the train passes, inches away from us. The force of its turbulence blows me forward and we stumble into the opposite platform.

"Someone, call 911!" I cry out to the few passengers who have assembled. At my petition, a man comes and takes a still unconscious Prim from my arms and lays her down. I regain my bearings, and I climb up off of the ballast.

An ambulance arrives shortly, and I ride along with Prim to the hospital. The sirens blare, draining out everything during the journey except my racing mind. What if I hadn't let Prim forget her nose? What if I had run faster to catch up to her? What could I have done differently to prevent her fall? My head is reeling when we pull up to the emergency room.

On arrival, Prim is whisked away on a gurney and a nurse begins rattling off questions I have know idea how to answer. "What is her full name? How old is she? Does she have any known allergies? What is her blood type? Is she pregnant?"

"I don't know! Please, I need to be with her!" I say, breaking away from the inquisitive nurse and flying down the hall to where I saw them wheel Prim. I pass the nurse's station, catching up to her half-rolled through a set of double doors.

"Wait! Prim!" I beg, trying to catch my breath.

"Are you a family member or next of kin?" a doctor with shoulder length, pin straight gray hair queries.

"No, but..."

"I'm sorry then, you can't be in here," she cuts me off. Pushing the remainder of Prim's gurney through the doors, she follows after, and the electronic doors slam shut in front of me.

"I was going to marry that girl," I say to myself in an exhale, turning to retreat into the waiting area. Sympathetic looks greet me as I again cross the nurse's station.

The waiting room is a cheery mint but still has the sterile, chemical odor from the hallway. It is open on two sides and lined with rows of padded metal chairs and florescent lights. Each row is bisected by a round table or miniature ficus tree. The back wall is a sheet of tinted windows while a rack of magazines takes up the other remaining half wall.

Plopping down into one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs, I remove the phone from my jean pocket and send Delly a text. I explain what happened at the train platform and tell her I won't be coming back until I find out if Prim's alright.

Several minutes later, the young bird-like girl I passed at the nurse's station approaches me. She's wearing sunny yellow scrubs that beautifully complement her dark corkscrewed hair and deep sienna skin.

"I'm Rue. I'll be Ms. Everdeen's nurse this shift, so if you need anything don't hesitate to ask, alright?" I nod in response.

She leads me to an elevator and then to a patient room in the Intensive Care Unit. We find Prim lying peacefully in bed, attached to an array of IVs and monitors. She has been changed out of her scrubs into a hospital gown, and her typical ponytail is gone. Her flaxen waves now spill over the pillow and surround her head like a glowing halo. The sky blue walls of the room match the shade of her closed eyes and are bordered at the top with flowered wallpaper. And I think that she would like that.

"Go ahead and talk to her, darlin'. It's good for her to hear your voice," she encourages me. "I'm just going to take her vitals and check the monitors."

"Prim," I start, moving closer to the side of the bed and taking her hand in mine for the first time. "Everything's going to be alright. I'm here for you. It will all be fine."

"So you're the guy who stopped the assault and hauled her off the tracks?" A ginger haired policeman speculates, entering the room. I startle at the intrusion. He proceeds, extending his hand. "Officer Darius Odin. When you have a second, I need to go over a few questions for the report."

Before I can answer, a man that looks like he just stepped out of a GQ photo shoot swaggers in. This guy is a doctor? How does he look that good? The black dress shoes that peek out from under his creased charcoal slacks are mirrors, and his crisp turquoise shirt is rolled up to the elbows, making his biceps bulge that much more. He is an adonis, all the way up to his bronze locks, meticulously coiffed in homage to Don Draper. The potent aroma of his hair pomade only adds to the effect.

I'm jerked from my introspection when a screech pierces the air.

"Prim! She's in here everyone!"

A blonde woman in her mid-thirties teeters in on a pair of 5-inch magenta stilettos that perfectly match the pin stripe of her navy skirt suit. Her hair is teased and piled on top of her head in a curly bouffant. She is immediately followed by a stampede of people. Prim's room is now bursting at the seams, everyone either babbling or wailing.

The supermodel doctor is not amused. He takes the tootsie pop out of his mouth and whistles to gather the mob's attention. "I'm sorry, but everyone can't be barging in here like that."

"She's my sister!" a tall, brooding man with cropped coal colored hair rebuffs him, scowling. His arm is wrapped around a weeping, older blonde waif of a woman. Another blonde with an angled bob and closer in age holds his hand in both of her own.

Ms. Stilettos approaches the doctor and attempts to quell the situation. "What's the diagnosis? Doctor?"

"Odair. Dr. Finnick Odair. Ms. Everdeen, I'm afraid, is in a coma."

"On Christmas Eve!" the wispy woman exclaims with a resurgence of sobs.

"But," Dr. Odair proceeds, "her vitals and brainwaves are strong. I think she'll pull through in time."

"How old are you. Are you even a specialist?" a scruffy man in boots, wranglers, and a warn, black, fitted t-shirt butts in. He looks to be in his forties, but his grizzly salt and pepper beard makes it difficult to tell for sure.

"Haymitch, sweetheart, please," Ms. Stilettos pleads, grasping the grump's arm with her well manicured hand.

"Yes, sir. I am a neurologist," Dr. Odair, confirms.

"Bless her heart! How could this even happen!?" Sir-Scowls-A-Lot's younger blonde friend articulates what I'm sure everyone else is thinking.

"She fell onto the train tracks," I speak up from my spot in the corner behind the gathering. At the sound, all heads in the room whip in my direction.

"Who the hell are you?" I turn towards a voice at the doorway to meet smokey eyes and a furrowed brow. The girl I see is petite like Prim, but her coloring is the exact opposite. A raven braid hangs over her left shoulder. She is makeup free and wears only a simple evergreen top and skinny jeans, but she's as gorgeous as Prim.

"Katniss! Manners, please," Ms. Stilettos chastises.

"I'm Peeta Mellark. I..."

"He's Ms. Everdeen's fiancé, and not only that, he saved her life!" The nurse, Rue, offers before I can finish.

At this revelation all hell breaks loose.


End file.
